Moonlight
by LionsandGods
Summary: Sam observed it was going to be a full moon that night, and that something strange was going to happen. Dean shrugged it off, but the two brothers were in for a surprise when they saw Peter Bishop fall from the sky. Rated M for language.


It was a moonlit night when the Winchesters watched Peter Bishop fall from the sky. A full moon, actually, and when it happened, Sam had thought it had made sense. He had even hinted at it earlier that day in the way he says things to get underneath Dean's skin, his voice almost mocking.

"Oh," the youngest Winchester said while he read the paper over lunch at a diner in the middle of Washington, his brother sitting across from him.

"What?" Dean asked, half interested, his mouth stuffed with bacon and pancakes.

"It's a full moon tonight," his brother replied, taking a long sip from his coffee. "You know what that means, right?"

Dean tried not to cringe. Sam was always into that superstitious stuff, even though they were hunters and were supposed to rely on facts and things they could see. They shouldn't just assume things, that would ruin the investigations. His brother's faith in things he couldn't see always came back to bite him in the ass.

"It means you're gonna start being annoying as hell until dawn again," Dean replied with a grunt, knocking back the rest of his coffee easily. Sam rolled his eyes. "Be right back." He pushed himself out of the booth, heading toward the bathroom.

Sam picked at his toast while Dean was gone, wondering what crazy things fate would throw their way that night. Some weird shit was going to happen, it always did on those sorts of nights, and Sam couldn't understand why his brother constantly denied it. Whether it was Dean losing all of his money at pool, the werewolves causing problems, or the Impala breaking down. He could feel it through every inch of him—something strange was going to happen.

Dean had ushered Sam out of the diner soon after he came back from the bathroom, telling him they had to be in Sand Point, Idaho by nine the next morning. They began their long drive, starting out the afternoon with Rush, much to Sam's whining. He knew that complaining about the music over the speakers wouldn't influence Dean's decision, but that never stopped him from trying.

When the highway offered a chance to driving down back roads, Dean took it. It was about ten o'clock, and he needed something more than straight asphalt to keep him sane while driving. "You know," Sam put in from the passenger seat. "Going down back roads doesn't always mean we're taking the faster route."

"Thank you, Professor Winchester," Dean retorted in return. "Sometimes it isn't always about the route." He rolled his head to the right to grin at his brother, leaning on the acceleration.

His brother shook his head, smirking lightly back. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw something fall in front of the Impala, landing in the road. Sam turned back to the road, alarmed. "Dean," he grabbed his brother's arm.

Dean was already on the break, seeing the body fall a second before Sam did. He could recognize the shapes of a human, highlighted by the headlights of his car. The sound of the breaks sliding across the pavement was deafening, the wheels smoking by the time they stopped two feet before the body.

The two brothers sat in awe as they watched the body in front of them. Finally, Sam broke the silence. "Told you something was gonna happen."

"Shut the fuck up, Sammy." Dean shut off the radio, grabbed his pistol and a flask of holy water, exiting the car.

He examined the body carefully as Sam got out, staying close to the car. The body in front of him was a man, clad in a black, woolen jacket with the collar up, jeans, and black work shoes. He had stitches over one of his eyebrows and right as Dean was about to roll him onto his back, the man rolled over on his own, coughing and groaning.

"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered.

He lightly kicked the man's leg, hoping he'd wake up. "Hey," he said loudly, kicking him again.

"Ow, Jesus," the man responded, his voice hoarse.

"How the fuck is he alive?" Sam asked aloud, gripping the top of the passenger door from where he stood.

Dean looked back at his brother to shake his head, wondering the same thing as his brother. Then he turned back to the writhing man on the ground, his face immediately harsh. "Where are you from?"

"What year is it?" The man asked in return, straining to open his eyes.

Dean was pretty annoyed that he had answered his question with one of his own, but he answered carefully, "2011."

"Oh, good," the man responded. Before he could ask any other questions, Dean unscrewed the top of the flask and threw a splash of holy water into his face.

In the few seconds that Peter had water splashed into his face, his mind turned to a time before this one, where he was in bed and the sun was just starting to peak in through the window. He had rolled over, his arms cast around the body of a woman. Peter strained to remember who she was, to search for a face or any sort of identifying quality—hair color or a specific scar—before he was pushed back into reality without any frame of reference.

The holy water Dean had thrown hit the back of Peter's throat in his open mouth and he choked, coughing, as he was thrust out of his mind and back into the beams of headlights and dark faces. "Olivia!" He gasped, reaching out, the bones in his chest screaming in pain.

He held the sides of his chest, his face twisted as Dean looked back to his brother, the holy water having no effect.

Sam shrugged as his brother faced him, exasperated. For the first time all evening, the youngest Winchester stepped forward, approaching the man on the ground. He looked at him curiously, his brow furrowed as he thought. He was wondering how a man falling from the sky couldn't be a demon, so the only logical reason would be…

Sam turned to Dean, his eyes ablaze with "what if"'s. They hadn't seen Cas for the past three weeks—hadn't even heard a damn word. Had he finally fallen? Finally lost his wings and fled the war in heaven, falling to the human world? Sam had recalled when Anna had fallen and couldn't remember who she was, so maybe this was the same.

Dean, on the other hand, wasn't following his brother's quiet thought process. He returned Sam's curious eyes with narrow eyes and a pouting mouth, thinking to himself what kind of fucking monster could be lurking in the man's chest before him. Sure, his ribs probably hurt from the fall he had just suffered, but he could only assume it was a trap.

Sam crouched down next to Peter, who had already went through all of his symptoms and knew what was broken and what wasn't. "Hey man," Sam said easily, in that comforting way that just makes people want to talk to him. "You're pretty well aware that you fell from the sky in front of our car, right?"

"Yeah, I gathered that pretty easily," Peter replied in a retort, struggling to sit up.

Dean dragged him from underneath his arms abruptly, pulling him against the front of the Impala, his head resting on the start of the hood. He removed his pistol from his waistband and pointed it at the man's temple. "I'll give you three seconds to tell me who the fuck or _what_ the fuck you are before I blow your head off."

Peter sighed, still holding his side. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"You wouldn't?" Dean snarled, cocking it. "Then I guess you and I have two very different ideas of things, huh?"

Sam threw up his hands. "_Dean_!" He yelled. "What the fuck?"

"Shut up, Sammy," his brother snapped.

Peter began to move. "Look—" he started as he began to stand.

"Sit your ass back on that asphalt, man." Dean pressed the metal harder into his temple.

Peter folded as he slid back down to the ground. "Look, you've clearly got the wrong guy. I've never seen the two of you in my entire life, I don't know who you think I am."

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked. "And who's that, exactly?"

The man in front of him pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, as if the entire process was tedious and unnecessarily. "My name is Peter Bishop," he answered, formally. "My father is Walter Bishop, you've probably heard of him because he used to be fucking nuts. I work for the FBI."

"Prove it."

Peter reached into his pocket and obtained his clearance pass. This led to more questions as the brothers took it. "What division is this for?" Dean asked.

"I can't tell you that." Peter said, shaking his head. "What I can tell you is that if you're going to execute me in the middle of fucking nowhere against this car, you're screwed."

There was a silence that broke over the three of them, with only the rumble from the engine of the Impala masking any sort of silence.

Finally, Sam spoke his brother's name. Nothing past that, just, "Dean." It didn't even possess a tone.

"Shut up, Sammy, I'm thinking."

"Dean," his brother said again, more harshly. He grabbed Dean's arm, pulling him a few feet behind the car. "I don't think he's lying," he commented as his brother began to pace.

Dean shook his head and waved his finger at Sam in return. "Your faith in people always gets us into trouble."

Sam rubbed his temples. "Yes, just like shooting people we're not even sure are even monsters gets us _anywhere_."

"Do you have a better idea?" Dean snapped suddenly, turning all of a sudden. "Sammy, we can't let the other shoe drop on this one. He could be anyone."

Sam bit his lower lip, trying to pull ideas from every inch of his brain. If he could figure out a way to keep this Peter guy safe from having his brains blown out by his brother, he was gonna find it. He opened the driver's side door, popping the trunk.

"Sam?" His brother insinuated in a slightly aggressive sing song tone.

"Shut up for a minute, Dean, let me think." There had to be something in the trunk. Almost their entire lives were packed all the way down into the trunk of the Impala—dad's journal, all their weapons, clothes, disguises…

Disguises. FBI disguises. "Of _course_."

Sam began rifling through the disguises bag while Peter was still keeling over the side of the car. "Do you guys have like, water or anything?" He asked. "I feel like I haven't drank anything in months."

"Shut up," Dean growled.

Sam made sure his phone was in his pocket as he pulled out one of his many fake FBI IDs. He walked back to the front of the car. "Mr. Bishop, can I see your ID again please?" Sam was always one to act the part, even if Peter had heard a difference in his tone not even ten minutes before.

Peter screwed up his face, suddenly amused. Part of it was probably from falling from the sky and then being dehydrated, but at this point, the entire situation was just strange. "Can I see yours?"

Sam flipped his open and Peter took it. "Andrew Jackson, huh?" He examined it, but then shook his head, handing it back. "Nuh huh."

"What?" Sam asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Don't try and con a once-conman." Peter sat back against the car again, slowly starting to come to terms with the fact that he didn't know where he was, didn't know who those men were, and didn't know if he would ever see Olivia or Walter again, let alone live to see the morning come.

He thought of Olivia and Walter's faces, imagining them when they would see that he had come home from wherever he was, talking about how they had missed him and they were glad he was safe. He realized then that he wasn't even sure how long he had been gone.

Sam was behind the car now, frustrated, sitting on the back of the trunk while Dean called Bobby. Bobby, on the other end of the phone, ran a background check on Peter Bishop, a member of a classified unit of the FBI. He had gone missing six months ago, but there was no background besides the years he spent at the Bureau.

"So he's a real person!" Sam argued.

"Not necessarily," Dean shook his head, his tongue against his teeth, trying to think.

"Well," Sam said, exasperated, his hands thrown up in the air. "What do you suggest, Dean? He can barely walk, he can't do anything. He's hurt, Dean. I say we take him to the closest motel and we figure this shit out."

"I just…" his brother turned away from him, looking toward the front of the car. "This doesn't feel right, Sammy. I'm just trying to figure out what this could be. Holy water had no effect on him, but that doesn't mean he isn't an angel or isn't working for Crowley." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Sam sighed, part amazed that Dean had actually shared something with him. He faced where Peter was as well, the two of them trying to figure out things silently. Peter, on the other hand, was trying to keep a hold of reality. He could hear bits and pieces of what the Winchesters were saying, depending on their volume, and he could feel damn well that things weren't going well. His thoughts turned serious, suddenly worried that he would never see his family again. In a rush, he remembered what happened after he had touched the machine—being thrust into the future; into a world where his true father had killed the only woman he could ever love. He prayed with every inch of his being to whoever was listening up in that big sky that Olivia was okay, and that his absence wasn't causing her too much pain.

He didn't expect anyone to reply. He just needed to get rid of the thoughts and focus on something positive, no matter how far-fetched the idea. But then suddenly, in the midst of the darkness, there was a flutter of wings. "Hello, Dean, Sam." A familiar gruff voice came from behind the brothers.

The brothers turned in alarm, face to face with Cas and a new face. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean was the first to speak after a brief pause, his brother still struck next to him. They hadn't seen Cas since he had become "the new God", but had clearly avoided him without success.

Dean cocked his pistol. He knew that it wouldn't do any good, but he figured it would at least make himself feel better. "I'm gonna give the two of you ten fucking seconds to get out of my face."

Cas turned his head to the side in that curious way he did sometimes, squinting his eyes at the brothers. "Of course," he said quietly, as if realizing something. "You weren't the ones who prayed."

"You've got seven seconds."

His friend looked past the car to Peter lying on the ground, nudging Cas and pointing to Peter. "Ah, I should have known." Cas's voice was so calm it made Sam and Dean's bones shake. After so much—so much pain—how could one person be so calm about something that the two of them were clearly left in the dark about?

The brothers follow behind Cas and the other suited figure to the front of the car. Peter looked up, his eyes tracing over Cas's messy dark hair and trench coat and his follower's blue suit and blonde curls. "Oh god, there's more of you," he moaned under his breath.

Cas kneeled down in front of Peter, pressing his hand against the frame of his face, his eyes fixated on his. Peter didn't jerk away from the movement, but he knew that if it was any other time, he would have. He didn't understand what was keeping him there, but he felt so calm, and the heat from his lungs and the strain of his body was beginning to lift. Cas smiled at him. "It's alright, Peter," he said. "Olivia is fine, as is Water and Astrid. They're taking care of each other."

Peter squinted at the stranger in front of him. "How do you know—"

"My name is Castiel," Cas said. "I'm here to answer your prayer."

"So he isn't one of yours?" Dean asked.

Cas shook his head in return, turning his head up toward the Winchester. "No. Nor is he Crowley's, nor has he ever been 'ours'. He's a human, Dean. He poses no threat to you or your brother."

The Winchesters turned to each other. Dean eyed Sam carefully. This was not the time for an "I told you so" look.

"What—" Peter stammered, his mind trying to figure things out all at once. His pain was gone, and he knew that if he wanted to, he could stand up and walk away, through some kind of miracle. Two men with fake FBI badges had found him in front of their car because he had fallen from the sky, with no idea what time or what day it was. They had thrown water in his face and then "didn't know what to do with him". Now there were two other men, both of whom seemed to know everything that he had been thinking about in his head. This could not be explained with science. This could not be explained with a simple call from Walter. This was something else—something divine.

"As long as we're doing introductions…" Sam put in. "Who's your friend?"

"Ah," Cas stood now, facing the Winchesters. "This is Tobias. He's like my right hand man, as you humans would call it. Sort of an assistant."

Dean smirked. "Tobias is your bitch?"

Tobias turned to the eldest Winchester, his eyes solid and the upper curl of his lip apparent. "Watch your tone, boy." His voice was deep and in charge.

"Tobias is here for back up," Cas went on, as if the other interaction had never occurred. "Reinforcement, rather, if things seem to turn tonight."

"Turn how?" Peter asked, suddenly enraged about being left in the dark. He stood. "How could things _turn_ into anything?"

"Peter," Cas turned. "Calm down."

"No, don't tell me to calm down," he replied, his voice growing. "I've been left out in the dark this whole time, _literally_, and now the two of you bring your crazy ass friends here and I'm supposed to just sit back and not do anything?"

Dean was impressed by Peter's outburst, but Cas just seemed annoyed. He dropped his head and sighed. "Peter, you can't go back to Boston. You can't see Walter or Olivia or anyone else from your old life again, ever."

"What?" Peter stepped back, confused.

"Tobias is here in case you feel like rebelling against your words. You have to understand that we need to handle things appropriately. We can't take care of your species _all_ the time; we have our own things to deal with. We can't be bothered with your messes."

His words hit Dean with a pang and he stepped forward. "Well hold on, wait. You can't just drop this on a guy and not tell him why."

Cas turned to the brother. "You're one to talk, Dean, you and your brother do this when you tell people your line of work all the time."

Dean struggled to not step forward and slap the malice out of Cas's mouth, but Sam's hand on his arm settled him.

"Line of work?" Peter asked.

"We hunt supernatural beings," Sam sighed, trying to get the little details out of the way as quickly as possible. "You know, vampires, wendigos, werewolves, shape shifters, demons. The whole nine yards."

"Angels, too." Dean spit.

Cas tilted his head again, grinning sideways. "Case and point." He turned back to Peter. "Peter, as far as everyone you know is aware of, you never existed. You've been erased from the time line."

Yup, Dean thought. Because that explained everything.

"You can't go back because they won't remember you."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and slumped against the hood of the Impala, his mind ablaze with a million different thoughts. "Peter—" Cas started.

"Shut the fuck up, I need a minute." Now it was Peter's turn to shuffle to the back of the car, leaning against the trunk, trying to take deep breaths.

The brothers, on the other hand, resumed the conversation. "What do you mean he's been erased from history?" Sam asked.

"I mean everyone, besides us and Bobby, of course, _do not remember Peter ever existing._" Cas enunciated each word. "He served his purpose, so he's been erased. He was a mess that we had to clean."

Dean shook his head. He couldn't look Cas in the eye anymore. He wasn't even sure if the thing talking to him and his brother was even Cas at this point—nothing was the same. Cas used to refer to people as what they were: people. Now they were messes. "You disgust me," he spit quietly, his voice dripping with malice.

"Don't make this about you, you self-indulgent swine."

Dean's lip twitched and he felt his finger on the trigger of his gun. He was about to respond when Sam cut in instead, saving everyone from a world's amount of other problems. "Okay, so if Peter doesn't exist, what are his options?"

"They're limited," Cas responded. "But not empty. He could create a new life, with a fresh identity and even have his memory erased if he wishes. Or, he could use his skills for good. Although he was an FBI agent, he's been a con man for longer. He would make a worthy addition to your team."

"We could be The Three Musketeers." Dean said to Sam, and the two of them nodded, their lips pursed with shrugs.

"The Three Musketeers, huh?" Peter is suddenly standing by the back driver's side door of the Impala.

Cas turned to Tobias, smiling gently. "I think our job is done here." He touched the angel's shoulder, and in a flutter, they were gone as quickly as they had appeared.

Sam nodded, shrugging again. "Yeah, you know…"

"We could teach you the family business," Dean interjected. "If it seems like something you could like, get into."

Peter laughed once, shaky and unsure. "I don't really… have any other choice, I guess." His mind wasn't clear in any sense of the word. All of his thoughts were swimming around in his head, trying to file away the important memories for nights when he didn't think he could hold on anymore. But those, of course, were all of the memories he possessed in his skull. He could feel tears behind his eyes, although they didn't dare to spill over. He wasn't alone in the world, or at least he was less alone than he was twenty minutes ago. He knew who the brothers were now, what they did. They weren't going to kill him, despite how many times they threatened people or things; they would never kill an innocent man. And Peter had to respect that.

There was a silence that stretched over the three of them. Finally, Dean spoke. "Alright well, if you're gonna come with us, get in the back seat."

Peter, after taking a deep breath, did what the brother had suggested. The two Winchesters turned to each other one more time before climbing into the car. Sam grinned. "Full moon, Dean. Weird shit."

His brother rolled his eyes, not looking for an "I told you so" again. "Shut up, Sammy."


End file.
